


The Fingers On His Throat

by Glossolalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Asphyxiation, Coffee Shops, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Smut, Good End, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Joke Gone Wrong, M/M, Personal Growth for Keith, Porn Star Shiro, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Riding, Sex Positive, Sex Work Positive, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: It's considered proper etiquette to tell someone you're a porn star before you sleep with them. Someone should've told Shiro.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got a sheith revival feeling while working on this, so this went to hell.

_**i.** _

As it tends to, it started with a cup of coffee.

Not just any cup of coffee, but a double soy hazelnut latte skimmed and planted on a wooden countertop with a dead thud. It was a thud that echoed through its maker's ears, a kind of hollow sign of resignation that quietly whispered— _kill me_. After all, it wasn't like making coffee was Keith's life passion or even something he was remotely enthusiastic about. He hadn't grown up thinking to himself— _You know what?_ _Fuck being an astronaut. I can't wait to spend every morning of my college career pounding espresso for soccer moms who think 'tall' means 'large' and 'venti' means 'tiny' only to scream at me because they were wrong._

_Read the ounces._

_Oh, and by the way, diagonal forwards and chevron print actually suck._

Right, so something started.

"You are _loving_ this morning."

It was a male voice. A nice one at that. Buttery smooth and confident, but Keith didn't care at 6 AM. The world could've ended in that moment, and instead of experiencing peril, he would've quietly considered the fact he wouldn't have to pay back his student loans.

He could only hope.

"Excuse me?" Keith asked, not looking up from his post while continuing to determinedly sanitize a frothing pitcher on the rinser.

"Sorry—you just look like you'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Well," he murmured and dropped the pitcher onto the bar with a clank. The barista beside him, Lance, snatched it up with a spin and poured milk. "It's not like you're wrong."

"Is there any way I can make it better?"

"Interested in paying my tuition?"

"Did you just ask me to rob a bank?"

Keith reached for a towel, suddenly smiling to himself. He parted his lips to snap back with a ' _maybe more than one_ ,' but he looked up instead. Laughter half-leaving his mouth with the faintest scratch, he stopped himself, and without realizing, hinged the noise onto a quiet ' _oh_.' Keith wiped his fingers and dropped the towel in front of him. His mouth dried, his hands suddenly didn't know where they needed to go, and from the overhead speakers, a condescending Bon Iver drowned his thoughts.

The stranger's voice had been nice, but the body it derived from excelled any expectations Keith might've had. Not that he'd had any, of course.

Tall and broad shouldered with biceps thicker than Keith's thighs, the man stood before him with an oddly tapered fade that dramatically went from dark along his temples to stark white and long on top of his head. Keith couldn't see his eyes behind his Ray-Bans, but his eyebrows were critically groomed, and his cheekbones were sharp enough to hang glass in a Catholic church.

Keith nearly ate his tongue. Not only was he conventionally appealing, but he'd somehow managed to make black joggers and a leather jacket over a grey hooded sweatshirt seem fashionable. Incontestably, the stranger was handsome, even if he looked somewhat lazy.

_Probably fresh from the gym._

"Hi," he said, having caught onto Keith's staring.

"Hi," Keith murmured back, struck into a stupor. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Your name."

From beside him, Keith heard Lance snort. Before Keith could elbow him, the snort returned to a soft hum occasionally startled by what sounded like a choked back laugh.

"Keith. I'm Keith."

"Well, Keith, I'm Shiro," he said and then brought his drink to his mouth with a quick sip. He lifted the paper cup toward Keith with a gloved hand and momentarily flicked up his sunglasses. A sharply delivered wink followed, and he lowered the lenses with a knowing smile. "Good drink. I'll let you know if the bank robbery goes well. Do you work tomorrow?"

Keith's deadened tone returned. "Yes, and then almost every other morning. Right here. Living out my best years."

Shiro swallowed a laugh, thought about it and then laughed out loud.

"Right. Tomorrow, Keith."

Though hesitant, he slowly stepped toward the door. Shiro's back pressed against the glass so that he didn't have to immediately tear his gaze away from the barista. When he did, Keith could've sworn his shoulders were shaking at another laugh, but he wasn't for sure. Always the best employee, Keith pointedly ignored Lance when he nudged his hand with a cup in need of filling. He was too busy watching the man's back and wondering if what'd happened was real.

"Man," Lance started before Shiro was even out the door. " _Where_ have I seen that guy before? People don't just look like that, you know? He's doing _something_."

"Maybe he's in a band."

"Maybe, man."

 

 

_**ii.** _

"I'm in independent film. I just wrapped up a couple projects, so I'm not busy."

Keith asked the next morning, and considering his steaming pile of desperation, didn't consider asking beyond that. Instead, he sheepishly murmured 'cool,' and gestured around himself without much fanfare. As if on cue, Lance spilled a cup of piping hot milk across the bar, and Keith watched as it crept toward Shiro. He hoped it was a premonition. God knew he needed it.

"I'm in school for astrophysics," he added, remembering he was worth more than his weight in coffee beans. "I graduate next year."

That caught Shiro's attention who leaned forward while expertly avoiding the milk puddle. Keith glanced toward his supervisor and then reached for a towel to mop up the mess.

"You're really smart then," Shiro said. This was presented as a fact. "I have a degree in astronautical engineering and a master's in the same thing. My thesis was on systems for remote sensing from space and its impacts on spacecraft structural dynamics. I'm certified to do research for the United States government, but I'll probably go back to it when I want my Ph. D. Right now, though? I'm burnt out by being in school for eight years."

Keith's heart palpitated.

Was he that cliché?

Yes.

"That means _you're_ really smart. I don't think beyond science, to be honest. I don't know what I'd do outside of school."

Shiro's gaze flitted to the side, and he shifted over for a customer. Keith lifted a finger as a means to tell him to pause while he made a cappuccino. He didn't realize he was smiling to himself throughout every methodical movement, but it couldn't be helped. Lance nudged him without explanation, but it was for that very reason. Keith was beaming.

When the satisfied customer was on her way to the door, Shiro stepped forward and said, "Maybe I can help you think about something other than science."

Lance gasped as if someone had roundhouse kicked the air from his lungs. He recovered and promptly shoved a pitcher into Keith's hand who had frozen in his post. As if helping Keith recover from a cough, he whacked Keith's lower back and woke him.

"What'd you have in mind?" Keith asked, words quiet and muddled by his fear of _this_ unknown. That and the fact he felt like he was in a rom-com featuring early-2000s Cameron Diaz.

Shiro's jaw flexed as he shifted his glance to the side. "Didn't think I'd get this far."

"You're _kidding_?" Lance said, and he realized he'd said something. He looked between the two men and darted toward the storage room in search of more pre-made egg and kale sandwiches.

Keith couldn't see, but the general manager, Coran, had pointedly stopped Lance behind the door in hopes of an explanation. Upon receiving a dramatic one that divulged Keith's pointed lack of a sex life, Coran had clutched his chest and pressed his eye to the storage door's single round window, concentration ablaze. Lance had promptly joined him, arm swung around Coran's shoulders and fingers reaching for the freezer door that went unopened.

"Coffee probably wouldn't be a good idea," Shiro said and gripped the edge of the bar. "Should I ask for your number so we can figure it out?"

Keith set the dirty pitcher aside and leaned forward over the bar. "You really don't know what you're doing right now, do you?"

Keith's lean caught Shiro off guard, and he lifted both brows.

"Not really," he admitted. "This is out of my sector."

"Smoothies, outside somewhere unless it rains, and don't take my mind off space and science because that's what I'm interested in, have dedicated my life to, and on some level you did the same thing. I want to talk about what I like with someone who knows what I'm saying."

Keith snatched a pen off the countertop and scrawled his number onto the back of a receipt. It was an order for a plain black coffee.

 

 

_**iii.** _

Simple really.

Two kiwi and honeydew smoothies turn into dinner three times in one week; a Mediterranean bistro, a noisy pub along the riverside and then Japanese tapas after work. Keith discovers Shiro's right hand is a bionic prosthetic expertly attached to nerve endings. He says it was an accident in a lab, but he swears it has its perks no matter how grave his face becomes on the topic. Shiro loves tequila and his mother, and he thinks Keith's voice has the sweetest scratch, like when someone's favorite record crackles beneath the needle. He's a master at pointing out constellations, his cologne smells like crisp water, and Keith discovers he's a hand holder.

This morphs into an excessive exchange of text messages. Messages that tiptoe around the idea of hanging out every other day.

Keith doesn't know how to navigate going from eating pizza in a dorm to shoving his senior thesis work aside so that a man five years his senior can kiss him, hard.

The kisses are slow, languid but expertly crafted in a way that doesn't feel real to Keith. There's a pattern in every dip of the head, guiding sweep of tongue. Shiro knows what he's doing, even though time and time again he's made it clear he has no idea what to do with Keith.

There's something profound about the way Shiro holds the side of his head. Gentle and patient when Keith is too eager for the moment. There's even the taste of 'I could love you.' It's there as a formulating thought, but Keith is too afraid to consider the numeric implications. He hates to believe that love and math might have more in common than the humanities give them credit for. The coupling is something one has to spend time solving before settling on a defined answer, and unlike so many things, love is a sum of all its parts.

"Come home with me?" Shiro asks mid-kiss, and this is a question.

He's a man of facts and knowing, but not with Keith. The uncertainty lets Keith know Shiro is standing in front of the same chalkboard, staring at the black nothingness beside an unanswered formula so ancient its damn near alchemic. Arms crossed, Keith finally steps forward and reaches for the single tube of chalk. He draws a line, and suddenly, Shiro is beside him. The chalk is broken in half, and they're working together, tapping and pulling white strokes into something that's wholly a concept.

It doesn't take an astronautical engineering degree to see what's happening.

"Sure."

 

 

_**vi.** _

Shiro drove them to his condominium on the east end of the city.

Frankly, the condo was austere in comparison to Keith's white cinderblock walls and ever lingering stank of weed, Domino's pizza and a pheromone known only to an impending sense of post-graduate failure. Though something he'd already gathered from the man's sense of style, Shiro liked minimalistic whites and neutral colors. His floors were dark hardwood, but his countertops were white granite that bled into freestanding shelves stacked high with white porcelain plate, bowls and mugs. The single-bedroom home was an open floor plan, and like his dinnerware, there was something about the place that felt exposed.

"Nice place," Keith said, casual as he pushed off his jacket's shoulders.

Shiro took the jacket for him, and he modestly shrugged at the compliment. "It does the job without breaking my bank account. I like it."

After stowing the jacket in a closet, Shiro slid an arm around Keith's waist and kissed his temple. He stepped forward into the living room. Certain in their comfort level, his fingers scraped along Keith's lower back, but instead of expecting Keith to trail him, he grasped onto the other's wrist and gently guided him forward. Between the glass coffee table and armless couch, past the display of nondescript awards Keith didn't have time to examine, toward the kitchen island; Shiro led him without much explanation for when and how he wanted them to be.

"Beer?"

"Beer."

He needed it for his nerves.

Keith had the experience of a submerged rock, but that didn't mean he didn't know what being in that house meant. Once handed the beer, he brought it to his lips and reminded himself not to chug. The warm taste sloshed between his lips, coated his throat, and he leaned against the countertop in hopes that Shiro wouldn't notice the quiet shake to his fingers. This was different from fumbling in the dark with an 'experimenting' roommate. This man was interested. He called himself 'queer' with a noncommittal air. He called Keith 'stunning' like clockwork.

"You okay?" Shiro asked. He was leaned onto an elbow that entered Keith's space but didn't possess it. Using his prosthetic fingers, he danced his hand toward Keith's and ran the cool thumb along his knuckles. "You can go anytime you want to. It's fine."

"No. That's— just kind of nervous," Keith admitted, watching Shiro's fingers. "It's not a big deal. I'm this way with everything."

Shiro looked surprised, but he shut the look down. He set his beer aside and reached to tug his hooded sweatshirt overhead. Keith watched Shiro's black undershirt climb his ribs and slip free from broadened shoulders. He wondered how one man could be so defined, so fucking perfect.

"That's fine, too," Shiro promised.

Keith's bottle hit the counter with a defining clank, and carefully, Shiro reached for Keith's hip. The impulse to touch appeared magnetic, an urge impenetrable by light itself, but this wasn't something exclusive behind closed doors. Shiro liked to touch, and Keith liked to be touched by Shiro who was so warm and dignified in his advances where it could've easily been cheap. This was why Keith hummed in approval when Shiro reached and skimmed his knuckles along the curve of his jawline, beneath his quaint chin and across the dip pooled at his bottom lip.

Keith hesitantly kissed his knuckles and lifted his eyes to Shiro as if to ask— _What are you waiting for?_

This gaze startled Shiro, and in silence, he peered back with a discerning stare that built from calm to an unspoken realization. Something overcame him, and with a sharp inhale and wrapping arm, Shiro captured Keith's head and kissed. Mouth open and eyes shut, his prosthetic arm brought Keith close. They were soon chest-to-chest and Keith couldn't resist his own whimper.

_Forgive me. I've been waiting so long._

The yearning between them wasn't sensible, but Keith submitted to it. Hungry for more, he kissed Shiro back, tongue lapping at the man's top teeth. This prompted Shiro to lick back, and soon Keith was panting, digging his palms into Shiro's hard biceps.

He reached down with both palms and pulled his V-neck overhead with rehearsed fluidity. It fell at his feet, and Shiro kicked it aside. He bent down to kiss from Keith's naked shoulder to the soft skin in front of his ear. Keith noted his breathing, practically ingested the sound of the man's panting and it's shameless accelerating. Keith carded his fingers through Shiro's hair and reached for his hip so that he could slide his fingers along the defined bone.

"Still nervous?" Shiro asked.

"Oh, yeah."

He'd gone from nervous to terrified.

"Talk to me. Tell me what you like."

The words caused heat to clamor toward his face.

"Everything," Keith joked, knowing it probably wasn't a good time what with Shiro's mouth making paths along his throat. "Anything."

"No," he answered seriously and stopped. He reached for Keith's chin, tweaked it and then kissed him. "No. I _know_ everything. Tell me what you like."

Keith considered this, and he reached for one of Shiro's hands. Their fingers threatened to intertwine, but Keith dragged them down Shiro's open palm and took his wrist. He brought his bionic hand to his throat, and Shiro lifted an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Keith slid Shiro's hand upward and brought his fingers to his lips. "What about you?"

"I like being filmed," he said, not missing a beat. "And maybe choking boys like you."

"Filmed," Keith repeated and didn't resist when Shiro's fingers pushed between his lips. He kissed them and then flicked his tongue between the digits before weakly sucking their tips. Shiro carefully watched his mouth, appraising its movements. "Do you do that a lot?"

"There might be a few movies floating around."

"Just a few," Keith whispered, teasing.

His lips wetly popped around Shiro's digits, but it was hushed.

Shiro smiled at the sound, and he pulled his fingers from Keith's lips, replacing them with a small kiss. He playfully walked him backward from the kitchen counter, forgetting their beer bottles. Keith was ushered toward a bedroom down the hall with intermittent kisses he sank into, impatiently moaned against when Shiro attempted to restrain them for the hell of it.

Keith wasn't in the dim bedroom for more than a few seconds before he heard the soft shifting of Shiro kicking off boots. He mimicked Shiro's motions, looking to him for pacing. When he glanced over and Shiro's black denim sat at his toned thighs, Keith stepped forward and planted his palm on Shiro's lower back before gliding the other down the front of his navel. Shiro watched Keith's hand sweep along his happy trail. He didn't say anything when Keith's hand dipped toward the front of royal purple boxer briefs, but he did smile to himself.

Thin fingers danced along the bulge, and Keith tried to keep his mouth dry when he felt it stiffen beneath his touch.

"I…" Keith thought to ask.

"Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do, baby. It's okay."

The self-control slackened, and Keith sank to his knees. Shiro slid his fingers into his hair and guided him downward, admiring the dark bangs shadowing his face.

Keith grasped onto the front of Shiro's briefs and tugged. His shaking stopped, and when Shiro's half-hard cock presented itself, he swiftly brought the tip between his lips. Starved for it, he flicked his tongue along the soft foreskin and opened his mouth with a craving for thick veins fucking his throat. Keith caught the base and pumped him as he indolently rolled his tongue along the pink crown. He pressed against the grooves on the underside of his cockhead, appreciating the heavy weight and thick scent that was so intoxicating and pungent, and as Shiro gripped his hair, he approvingly whimpered.

Shiro watched, but when Keith leaned in, he stifled a groan and inched more of himself down his tight throat. Beautiful, Keith was beautiful, and he didn't even care when Shiro shallowly thrust forward. He contently gagged instead, and Shiro reveled in the choked sound, how the other only grappled for more.

Lips sealing into a tight vacuum, Keith pulled back nice and slow, nearly pulling off entirely only to dive his head forward and compromise his own breathing. Drool messily wetted his chin, and he reached down to shift out of his black Nike joggers. They reached his knees, and he palmed himself. The contact made his breathing hitch loud and heavy, and Keith pulled back to catch his breath and lick along the side of Shiro's cock.

There he played with the divots of his veins, the precum creating a briny film along his shaft. Keith remembered condoms existed, but his clouded brain shifted toward how heavy and taut Shiro's balls looked. They were so close to his body, and Keith shamelessly leaned forward to take one of the glands in between his lips, nose pressing into a cloud of black pubic hair.

"Holy shit," Shiro breathed and he flexed his fingers in Keith's hair. "Nice. Really, really nice."

Keith used his free hand to jerk Shiro, pausing his busy mouth to concentrate on how smoothly he could fuck him in his hand. There was a stuttering breath overhead, and as soon as Shiro's navel dipped, he caught Keith's hand and exhaled nice and slow.

"Come here."

It was nothing for Shiro to reach for Keith's biceps and tug him to his feet. Shiro gazed into Keith's dazed expression, and he kissed him while he pushed the joggers down. Keith mimicked the motions with Shiro's denim, and his toes curled when Shiro caught two handfuls of his ass and squeezed. His hands smoothed toward Keith's hips, and when they glided back down, they pushed beneath Keith's boy shorts and subtly spread him.

One hand cool and the other warm, Keith parted his lips in surprise when Shiro used the prosthetic finger to tauntingly stroke his hole.

"Is this where you want me?" Shiro asked, breath hot against Keith's ear.

He fell against Shiro's shoulder and stared past his neck, mouth momentarily pressing to his dipped clavicle. He shuddered when Shiro applied pressure.

Keith didn't question Shiro when he walked him toward the bed. It was evident Shiro liked to lead, give permission. Laid back on a white down comforter, Keith shamelessly spread his toned thighs and relaxed his limbs. He reached beneath the pillows for the edge of the mattress and gripped it to anchor himself, to focus. Shiro's hand dove into a side drawer for a condom and lube, and the gauzy veil draping his brain added another layer to itself.

"Catholic," Shiro teased at Keith's position.

"I'm here solely for procreation," Keith shot back, suddenly bringing his arms behind his head and cockily lifting a brow.

Shiro caught the side of Keith's thigh and rolled him over to smack his ass with a sharp clap that rang through the room. The soft sting made Keith sigh.

"That'd be a pretty baby," Shiro said. It was an afterthought, but genuine enough to make Keith's face turn to cinders.

Keith thought about it too long and laughed, hiding his face in his arms.

"Too soon?" Shiro asked, mouth shifted into a wry smile.

"Not if you've got the bank account for child support. I'll do anything for college tuition."

There was a rip of foil, sputtering and then a weak exhale as Shiro touched himself. He pointedly snapped the end of the condom, and the latex's give caused Keith's heart to thud.

"I meant smacking your ass, but I see why you're here." Shiro rolled him back over, and Keith's eyes drank in the sight of Shiro pouring dollops of lube onto his prosthetic fingers. He winked at Keith who was unknowingly holding his breath. "Show me where you want me."

Keith shyly reached beneath his thighs and spread his legs, showing off not only his entrance that already looked impossibly tight and pink, but also, his hard cock that hung heavy on his belly. Shiro planted a hand beside Keith's shoulder and reached between them, giving Keith unflinching eye contact as he dragged the cool slick fingers over that soft pucker. Keith tried to relax, reminded himself it was better that way, but he was coursing with nervous energy.

Shiro fingered him open. One finger was tight, two broke him open and three had Keith panting out hot puffs of air and too eager. He fluidly worked his mechanical wrist upward, grunting beneath his breath as if already buried deep inside Keith. The flicks were determined and pointed, reaching for something Keith rarely scraped when he fucked himself.

With an impatient moan, Shiro withdrew his fingers and caught both of Keith's ankles. He pushed them back and tested the flexibility. Keith's body gave, and he inhaled when Shiro caught the base of his cock and shifted forward. Giving Keith eye contact that only drifted as he searched his face for permission, Keith nodded and swallowed with an audible gulp.

"I'll be good to you," Shiro murmured, and there was confidence in that sincerity.

He probed Keith's entrance, slow and patient. Lavender eyes burned into Shiro's steel and flitted to the side with a furrowed brow as Shiro nudged through the muscle—tight, Keith was _really_ tight. Even with the lube, there was a simmering sting to being stretched open, and Keith clenched his fingers only to slowly part his lips with a breathy noise of discomfort. He bit the cry in two. Keith wasn't a virgin. He didn't need someone like Shiro to think he was.

Keith waited for the ache to pulsate into pleasure. Shiro paused, but it wasn't long before he pulled back, taking his time both to be careful and see if he could make Keith speak. He thrust forward, slow and tantalizing, and Keith murmured his name. He whispered it like a prayer, each syllable holding a thousand requests that circled the drain when he said ' _faster_.'

Faster happened, and Shiro leaned over Keith, palms beneath Keith's knees as he started to rut. Keith reached up for his dense shoulders, arms looping around his neck. Shiro used all of his strength to rock into Keith, bury himself deeper and deeper with short rapid thrusts, and Keith noted every touch of excitement in Shiro's breathing, the way his damp breath fanned against his temple. It was like being doused in napalm; his chest, his face, the interior of his navel. He was on fire, and Shiro kept filling him with that heat.

"Oh, God—" Keith breathed, shoulders rolling back. "God, God…"

"Louder."

Keith weakly keened, hardly getting enough even though he was so full his body wanted to meld into shock. "Shiro, oh my fucking God— _more_ , Shiro. _More_."

More could've been plenty of things, but Shiro's flesh hand swept down Keith's calf, along the muscular slope of his thigh and then up his ribcage. Keith stuttered on a breath when Shiro's thumb brushed along his nipple.

His fingers precisely wrapped around Keith's throat, but Shiro didn't clutch. Instead, he continued to rock forward, working to overstimulate Keith before they'd even started.

"Three smacks on my arm," Shiro said, panting entangled in his words, "and I'll let go."

Keith nodded, too enthralled to be conscious of how eager he was.

Shiro gripped, and Keith tilted his head back to expose his elegant throat. He was pushed down into the mattress, and his thighs tensed before lowering to wrap around Shiro's waist. He crossed his ankles, struggled as his lungs began to plead for oxygen, and then dug his feet into the tops of Shiro's ass with conducting pulls. Keith shook his head, sputtered and then found just enough space to breathe in and maintain.

"You're spasming."

Keith knew. He could feel himself clenching down on his cock, tensing and giving Shiro exactly what he deserved.

Behind his eyes, within the darkness, he saw hallucinatory blossoms. They were pentangular in form and pulsated a pale light with every burning gasp for air. Shiro clutched his throat hard, pushing him into the soft sheets that were a stark contrast to the fire in his lungs. Keith clawed at Shiro's thighs, groaned raspy and pleased. He momentarily kneaded at the working muscles, and there he felt sweat, the vibrating invigoration suddenly humming through his fingertips.

Shiro bucked harder, and Keith cried out with a bowing back. He reached for Shiro's wrist and pouted when it hurt, but this only encouraged the man to fuck him deeper, tear him open.

"Need me to stop?" Shiro said, tone just patronizing enough to make Keith's arms lift with goosebumps. Keith shook his head and Shiro thrust forward hard enough to knock the final threads of oxygen from Keith's lungs.

Keith bounced against him. His ass met Shiro midway, and Shiro grunted in satisfaction when the smack of flesh against flesh quickened, became desperate.

"Look at you. You love this, don't you? If I squeeze any harder, then everyone is going to know what you like..."

Eyes glazed and forgetting he barely knew the man, Keith licked his bottom lip and struggled for a breath. Tears blurred his vision, and his gaze begged with a gutted vulnerability so tender and soft Shiro ached to break the boy, turn him to shards. He knew that—if Keith was already like this and willing to stay afterward—it'd happen eventually.

Shiro drank in the display of Keith loving every aspect of being fucked out, and he suddenly rolled them over. Keith's gasp—his whimper—made Shiro forget himself.

The transition was fluid, athletic even, but still surprising enough to catch Keith's breath. Shiro didn't give him time to logic his way through being on top. He bucked upward with a ragged moan and dug his fingers into Keith's hips. Keith's replying cry was guttural. He planted his hands on Shiro's firm pectorals in time to be thrust into again and again, skin pounding with unforgiving slaps that were wet from the lube. Shiro guided Keith using rhythmic tugs, wordlessly teaching him how to lift and drop his thighs to create a tempo that forced the mattress to beg.

Keith pushed back his sweat-matted bangs and fucked himself on Shiro. No—not fucked himself, but by the time Shiro was finished showing him how to move—he was fucking Shiro.

"There we go," Shiro groaned beneath his breath, dropping his hands from Keith's body and carding his fingers through his bangs. He continued to lift his thighs, heels dug into the mattress. "Fuck me, Keith. Fuck— me… _Hah_ …"

His brain noted Shiro's stamina, but only because his interior was molten. Keith couldn't breathe, think, and without consciously discerning his actions, reached to stroke himself. Shiro pushed Keith's hand away so that he could take over, and Keith watched in disbelief as Shiro jerked him, occasionally tightening his fist so that Keith could fuck his hand.

"I'll c… come," Keith warned, trying to push Shiro's hand away. Shiro didn't budge.

"Come on me, Keith."

Shiro took over. He drilled upward, knocking Keith forward as he slammed into him. There was a sudden shift where Keith knew there was no going back, and he hid his face in the pillow beside Shiro's head. There he gripped the cushioning and muffled his moaning, screaming. Shiro stroked him from base to tip, rubbing his cockhead and using precum to ease the friction.

He wanted to scream Shiro's name, but it came out as chopped syllables, colliding against the back of his teeth as he all at once released. White ribbons painted Shiro's abdominals, and Shiro relinquished control. One husky series of moans later, and Keith felt the heat within the condom permeate his insides. He was already aching from the thought of Shiro taking him raw, the idea of milky come spilling down the backs of his thighs enticing.

They finished in a heap of sweaty, warm limbs that lazily tangled together. Keith nuzzled into Shiro's throat, and only when Shiro was soft, did he lift his hips and shift himself onto his side of the bed. 

"Fuck," Shiro said, the swear strange on his tongue when they were casual.

He sat up and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Wordlessly, he leaned over and appreciatively kissed Keith who weakly pressed into it.

Shiro shamelessly stood naked from the bed, suddenly on display in all that god-like glory.

"I'm going to go find that beer."

It was then Keith noticed the black lion tattoo on Shiro's upper-thigh. It clung to the back of the muscular display, regal in its calligraphic stylization.

He wondered how he'd only just seen it.

 

 

**_v._ **

In the morning, Keith woke up to two text messages from Lance.

 **Lance  
** soy hazelnut latte with a side of cheese does porn

i'll bet my life on it

 **Keith  
** It is 6 AM and my day off, dude. Sometimes I like to sleep.

Wait. WHAT

 **Lance**  
i have PROOF motherfucker  
do NOT dismiss me

 **Keith  
** Proof?

 **Lance  
** yeah

 **Keith  
** Then send it.

 **Lance  
** hell yeah. don't tell me if you spank to it tho.

you in public?

Keith lifted his head to see Shiro's face, having slept on Shiro's broad chest that was warm and wavering like summertime tides. He settled back down and turned the volume off on his phone, knowing in the central core of his gut there was no earthly way Shiro could be in porn.

He softly smoothed a hand up Shiro's chest to see if he'd stir or not. All the touch managed to do was stir something within himself, and Keith arched an eyebrow before he lowered himself back down. He expired a small huff that deflated his hiked shoulders, and he brushed his nose against one of Shiro's pectorals as he settled back beneath the lazily draped down comforter.

His neck was sore. Shiro's palm was on his ass.

He was happy.

 **Keith  
** I'm good.

 **Lance  
** you're gonna be more than good after you see this

 **Keith  
** Don't make it weird.

Lance sent a link, and Keith cleared his throat as he stared at the blue enveloped font. He reached with his thumb to tap it, but something in him begged to hesitate. Lance had a knack for jumping to conclusions, and Keith adored snuffing him with logic, but he had to consider the possibility that maybe Lance wasn't wrong. Probability said Lance was closing in on his odds of being right, and Keith didn't know how to rapidly prepare himself for Shiro's possible porn career.

That's something you discuss before sex, right?

Right.

He tapped the Pornhub link.

It was like any plotless porno Keith had seen, except the quality was better. Studio made with some vague sense of integrity in mind, Keith dully watched the panning shots of a beach at dusk followed by a close up of a beach house and seagulls. Overhead, stars flanked the lilac sky, and Keith rolled his eyes when the title 'Milky Way' ran across the screen. He couldn't tell if he preferred pornography that knew what it was about or tried as hard as this was trying.

Starring  
Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane and Ricky—

_Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane_

Keith perked up at the name, and he hit pause. Staring at the condemning text, something like a sick swell devoured his lower abdomen. His chest clenched, and for a split-second, nausea lifted toward his lips. Keith decided he wanted to hate himself even more, and he clicked play, refusing to look at Shiro's sleeping face. Shiro's hand smoothed along his naked ass, but it was a sleeping gesture that turned into him repositioning his arm above his head.

The porno started with a make out scene, and Keith winced. He wasn't sure why he winced. Maybe it was because the boy he was kissing was so strikingly similar to him in form and features, but it wasn't like he picked that, right? Shiro couldn't walk into the studio and request who he acted with, which meant— Had Shiro sought Keith out because he liked this guy?

Lance had been right.

_Goddammit._

It was definitely Shiro.

The hair gave it away alone, but then there was the reveal of his arm and the black lion tattoo. It stood climbing his thigh, exposed as soon as this _Ricky_ clumsily tugged open Shiro's belt mid-kiss and shoved his pants down.

Keith thought about death and dying, the apocalypse, the Four Horsemen and then the facility of dreams. Maybe he thought about suffocating Shiro in his sleep for his occupation, but that was up for debate. In the end, it was all visceral, pointless things.

He didn't want to see anymore. Keith honestly couldn't stomach watching the man he'd just spent the night with drilling someone else, which was why he exited out of his browser and decided he'd reply to Lance eventually. Keith rolled off Shiro, and he lied on his back in the foreign silence, rationalizing why it hurt and where it hurt.

_You don't know this guy._

_He didn't owe you that explanation._

' _independent film'_

That had been a lie, too. There was nothing independent about that high budget pornography. That was the kind of studio that made pornstars.

Keith stared at the ceiling, and he cleared his throat. When his eyes grew misty, he scrunched his nose and scowled at himself. Rather than lie there and suffer, he rolled off the mattress and gathered his clothes. He did his best not to note the ache in his ass as he stepped into boy shorts and tied his joggers low along his hips. Keith slipped on his red high-tops, and he only paused to take a moment to glance himself over in Shiro's full body mirror. Deciding he looked like hell, he expertly tied his hair back.

His eyes were red-rimmed.

_Don't be a fucking baby._

As he walked through the apartment, Keith noted the awards shelf postured in Shiro's living room. He paused in front of the glass and stared.

It was an endless row of AVN Awards.

Best Male Newcomer  
Best Anal Series  
Best Taboo Relations Movie

Keith didn't read all of them. He didn't have the nerve, but apparently, Shiro was good at his job, and he was high profile enough for it to be something he was winning awards for. This was his main income. This was his career, and actually, probably how he paid for college. This was something you told someone as soon as you started to date them.

He resisted the urge throw the shelf to the side, and he grabbed his shirt off the kitchen floor. Keith tugged it on over his head, and he pulled out his phone to call an Uber.

Once he was in the car, he decided he'd send Shiro a bullshit text message about forgetting he'd had a study group. Considering how much he talked about school, this hardly seemed like a lie. Maybe he'd thank him for the good sex and delete his number.

Keith wasn't sure what to do.

 **Keith  
** Are you home?

 **Lance  
** sure am, buddy

 **Keith  
** Can I come over?

 

 

**_vi._ **

He'd liked him.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it._

 

 

 **Shiro  
** You left your jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta because I'm a post it and forget it person.   
> All mistakes are my own - etc. etc. etc.

_**i.** _

Keith decided Jesus and he needed to have a sit down.

_Square up, The Lord._

Not the kind of sit down with the conversational cup of untouched black coffee and split cheese Danish, but the kind of discussion involving an entire boardroom (or a fist). Keith wanted a pie chart, updates on developments in proxy access and then video footage of the very millisecond throughout his choking orgasm when God and Co. made the executive decision to take his gonads and twist them.

He thought about this while lounged on his college-issued twin mattress, textbook leaned against his raised knees and a sheet of college rule paper pressed to the opposite page of his formulas. Knuckles whitened as he stabbed numbers between blue lines, he thought about how Shiro's existence felt as asinine as the moment he'd discovered imaginary numbers did in fact exist. At twelve, when existentialism was at its finest germination, this had provoked an unsavory side effect no pop punk band could give solidarity to.

Lyrics condemning Greek mathematician Hero of Alexandria didn't exist. There was nothing on an iPod that could carry the weight of that conceptual burden.

Numbers were tragic.

The door opened with a dramatic swing, and carrying the fanfare only a McClain could muscle, Lance strode across the rug and stopped beside Keith.

He waited for Keith to acknowledge him.

Keith did not.

"Nice double chin."

To match Lance's theatrics, Keith dropped his knees, letting his book and homework collapse on top of his thighs. Looking to God, he jerked his gaze away from the ceiling when he remembered God hadn't been there for him when he was riding Takashi Shirogane.

"You haven't left this dorm except to make espresso for three days. I know you're embarrassed you cried over a dude's porn career, but—"

"I _didn't_ cry," Keith defensively shot back and promptly rolled onto his side, crushing his homework with a therapeutic crinkle. He scrunched his nose and stared at his cinderblock wall. He inhaled and evenly repeated himself. "I didn't cry. I gave you my key to bring Sudafed one time. Give it back. You've abused your privilege by dropping by without a warning."

The mattress suddenly dipped and Keith scooted closer to the wall.

" _Right_. You're not getting the key back for a reason like this. One weekend without my complimentary pizza run and you'd _really_ be crying. Did you respond to his text message?"

 **Shiro  
** You left your jacket.

Keith's muscles relaxed as he slowly let go of the air in his lungs. He'd been holding tight to the oxygen without realizing. "No."

Lance watched Keith knead his blanket, and while the typical smart ass comment begged to take a swan dive off the tip of his tongue, he refrained and reached for his friend's raised shoulder. Keith's flinch didn't faze him, and he punctuated on the delicate male-on-male consolation by giving him a squeeze better suited for a son's Little League inadequacy. On an average day, Keith would have whacked his hand away with heart palpitations and laughed, but this wasn't one of life's run of the mill letdowns. This was a bitter pill for low self-esteem.

"Is it even the porn you're mad about?" Lance asked, gauging the situation for the hundredth time. He couldn't understand. He'd tried and failed from the start. "Or is it the fact he didn't tell you he does porn? You don't let 'the best sex of your life' jet because the dude gets it on film, Keith. You thank the Lord for his gift and follow that bright star to Fucklehem."

Stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, Keith said nothing.

"You're being a baby."

"He lied by omission," he said and then shot up, startling Lance into defensively lifting both hands as if ready to block a punch. Keith stared at his palms and dismissively rolled his eyes. "That's something you tell someone on the first date. He didn't even lie by omission, actually. He said independent film. That was big studio. It was a five minute clip on Pornhub you have to link through and buy a subscription to see the rest of. He makes good money off of that."

"How're you gonna hate a man for paying back his student loans? That porn bought your dinner."

The pair stared one another down only to simultaneously dart their eyes to Keith's silent iPhone, the black screen a void of endless possibility. Keith shifted his jaw until it popped. The intended effect made Lance's eyes narrow in both disgust and challenge.

Lance broke the silence. "If you don't get over yourself and text him back, then I'm going to get that man's number and comfort him through a whole box of condoms."

"You're a shithole friend."

Returning to unmoving eye contact, Lance boldly reached for Keith's phone. Threat awakened within Keith like the leviathan, and he snapped as if an overextended rubber band, darting across the cosmic bedspread. Too aggressively, he snatched the phone and tore a textbook page with his bare knee. Keith expertly ignored Lance's braying laughter and rolled onto his back with a hefty plop. He determinedly unlocked the screen with rapidly tapping thumbs.

 **Keith  
** Sorry about that.

I could stop by and grab it.

The pause that followed was eternal. Lance bent himself at a 90-degree angle and skeptically peered at the screen, but Keith jerked the phone from his view with both hands. Lance gave, and Keith returned to his watch. After a handful of seconds, his eyes glazed staring at the read receipt, the burn of concentration causing his contact lenses to slide downward.

"He might be working," Lance offered and smacked Keith's thigh _hard_. "While you wait for emotional Armageddon, we should get food. Maybe a McDouble will make you feel better."

The read receipt flashed from 'delivered' to 'read,' and Keith's heart lurched toward his lips only to belly flop into his trachea. He reeled upward and stared down at the device, awaiting those three condemning dots to let him know Shiro was actively transcribing his thoughts.

 **Shiro  
** Don't worry about it. I can drop it off at your work.

Tomorrow morning?

Keith stared at the reply, fingers chilling as if he'd submerged them in a bucket of liquid nitrogen. He wasn't sure what he'd had in mind, but the potential for an in person apology had immolated in one text message. Keith slowly filled his lungs as he shut his eyes and then carefully let his breath escape him in the gentlest stream.

"That doesn't look good," Lance said.

 **Keith  
** Tomorrow morning.

 

_**ii.** _

Logic says, "It doesn't make sense to get upset about this."

Keith says, "The force of Logic could realign the planets and I still wouldn't listen. The force of Logic could pay back my student loans, cover my rent, cook me dinner, and I wouldn't listen."

Logic says, "You're an idiot."

Fingers still cold, Keith slammed the canister of whipped cream onto the countertop and gratuitously imagined himself inhaling the Nitrous Oxide. His eyes flickering toward the glass door in hopes of seeing Shiro's post-gym form, he was greeted by an oncoming wave of business men instead. The disappointment was palatable. Keith cleared his throat and reached for a squeeze bottle of golden caramel, swiftly creating the shop's signature crosshatch across the mountain of white before dropping it back into the warm water with a deadened splash.

 _Maybe this is like staring at water while waiting for it to boil_ , he thought. _If I turn, then he'll show up._

He shredded a damp napkin over the bar and swiped it off the counter. After that catharsis, Keith returned to his job, attempting to find focus in between the intrusive thoughts about Shiro's heavy cock on his tongue and hands that knew the human body in ways Keith understood he would never be able to intellectualize. Shiro's ability to explore him exceeded biology and integrated itself with spirituality and the fortitude of human nature. It made him ache in ways that weren't physical but more or less fated. As if, one night with someone had reunited him with the primitive unfurling humanity strove to crush with its bare hands.

There was the internalized joke that maybe he'd just never been fucked right before. There was the pooling desperation to believe he'd found kindling beneath a desert night sky.

"Do you want me to leave it here?"

Cool words, like smooth stones at the bottom of a mountain spring. Keith disregarded the refreshing quality of the voice and calmly finished preparing the cappuccino to-stay. His concentrated expression drifted into something thoughtful before carefully traveling to the direction in which Shiro's voice had derived. Eyes narrowed but not in malicious accusation, Keith exhaled and pushed the drink toward his waiting customer.

For a moment, he watched his own hands, the way they balled up into temporary fists like watching a flower die in a time lapse.

"Sure. Thanks for dropping it off," he said and straightened his spine.

They looked at one another, and Keith couldn't remember why he'd been so angry to begin with. This was his knee jerk desire to forgive someone who was conventionally attractive, and Shiro exceeded those expectations with a transcendent nature. He _had_ just come from the gym, but Keith needed to stop putting saints and men in Nike tights on the same pedestal.

Unmoved by Keith's silence but amused, Shiro stood before him, carrying an air of knowing that painted Keith with guilt. Their eyes met in a flash that struck Keith's blood to glass.

"You left without a word," Shiro said, entirely unafraid.

Keith subconsciously leaned forward, and when Lance tapped his bicep for the whipped cream canister, he flung it too hard against his chest. There was an ' _oof_ ' followed by a ' _hi, Shiro_.'

Shiro lifted his hand to acknowledge Lance, but he returned his attention to Keith. Carefully, he slid the jacket across the counter and toward the barista. Keith opened his mouth, frantic in the eyes, but Shiro was quick to disengage him. "It's fine. I get it. You saw the awards or it wasn't what you expected. It's not an easy thing for anyone to deal with or want to deal with."

… _or it wasn't what you expected._

It took all of his will power not to snort.

If only that were the problem.

His hands landed on the jacket, fingers curling around the fabric as he stood with his lips parting in realization. He wanted to believe Shiro couldn't be so obtuse.

"It's not the fact you—" Keith stopped, words dropping from his mouth and creating an echo in his head. He carefully looked around them, glad the Father John Misty was swelling and stuffing ears like plugs. "You didn't tell me what you do for a living. That's why I left. You pointblank avoided telling me, and that sucks. You suck for it."

It was a pedestrian explanation, but Keith had spent too long in his head thinking about their confrontation to naturally approach it with an ounce of humility. Their fingertips nearly touching on Keith's jacket, the pair inspected one another's faces. Both hunted for cues.

Realizing Keith wouldn't be the first to look away, Shiro swiftly flipped his sunglasses onto his head. His fully revealed face made Keith's chest sing, his thighs tense in memory.

"I was going to tell you," Shiro said, but his expression was void of apologetic expression. Keith was immediately unsatisfied with the guardedness. "When we were both awake, I was going to tell you and grovel for not telling you sooner. Think French toast and prayer."

"French toast would've been a start," he murmured, not sure what else to add.

"If you let me, then I'd still make it for you."

Keith could feel Lance eavesdropping. His presence was lingering too long, the typical showy way of flipping cups replaced by the careful placement of pitchers beneath the frother. One of Keith's eyebrows twitched, and he darted his scowl toward his coworker.

Lance hummed.

"We should talk about this somewhere else," Shiro suggested, his front dissipating into something sad, almost forlorn. Wordlessly, he tugged the jacket back toward himself and draped it over his shoulder. "Stop by when you can. I'll give this back to you then."

"Are you holding my jacket hostage?" he dully asked.

Shiro flicked down his sunglasses and a small smile hooked the corner of his mouth. It didn't entirely mask his despondency, but it was something. "Yes."

Without warning, Lance handed Keith a paper cup and shrewdly said, "Soy hazelnut latte, dude. I'm busy and _you_ are on the clock."

Keith took the cup. He knew this drink well.

He prepared Shiro's coffee, strangely on autopilot as he toyed with the espresso and casually asked Shiro about his schedule that week. Shiro was filming that Friday, but he'd be done for the day by at least seven o' clock. There was a plainness to the information, something as casual and disconnected as discussing an office job. Keith assumed it had more to do with the mood than Shiro's outlook on his job description, but he didn't know for sure.

The foam slowly dripped from Keith's pitcher and into the coffee. He habitually made the traditional latte heart that was an atypical standard for most coffee shops, but it resonated too strongly in the moment. He stared down at it and concentrated on draining the design until it was void of implication. When he'd depleted it of all its symbolism, he slammed the plastic lid onto the cup and slid it into the protective brown sleeve with a hard swallow.

It was the best heart he'd make all morning.

 

_**iii.** _

"You're going to go see him."

A fact.

Keith was seated on the dorm's communal kitchen counter when Lance announced this truth. Drinking from a shared beer bottle and watching the faucet from across the room, the duo was annoyed by its leak but unable to immediately fix it. They'd settled on placing a paper towel at the bottom of the sink to stop the metallic plops, but it'd eventually soaked through, returning but slightly muted.

He took the bottle from Lance's hand and sipped. "Don't act like it's a choice."

"You're totally going to sleep with him again," Pidge said from the couch across the room. Eyebrow raised and entirely unaffected by their own words, they continued to type on their laptop. "Because you want to sleep with him again."

"Don't—" Keith tried, but Pidge interrupted him from saying anything else.

"My brother went to school with him. They've been friends for years."

There was a tense silence followed by Keith craning his neck. "What did you say?"

This wouldn't have been a shock to Keith's system if Pidge's brother wasn't the academic superhero, Matt Holt. When one discussed their department's pride, then Professor Holt's son was the first one to come to mind. He'd seamlessly climbed the ladder to Ivy League research, and as Pidge and the rest all intended to be, was promised to pursue a career with NASA. By the time he'd graduated with his bachelors, he'd already designed and patented theorized thrusters that made the current methods of ion propulsion look juvenile. It was said to have already upstaged the NEXT program and commercialized space travel was five years away.

"Takashi Shirogane, right?" Pidge dryly continued, more focused on their homework than Keith's love life. "He's on that pending patent with Matt. They did that together."

Lance tilted his head and swiveled to face Keith. "He didn't lie about that. He told you he was in your program."

Keith stared into the oblivion that was his out of focus haze. "The genius part was omitted."

"He's pretty modest," Pidge assured him and flipped through their notes. They lifted their glasses to rub their eyes and then collapsed back onto the lounge's couch. "Kind of shy."

"He does _porn_ ," Keith said, hanging the final word like Jesus.

"Matt said he's pretty happy doing that for now," they said. "He basically lived with us for a while, and he's a good guy. He's like a brother. You should've told me about this sooner. I could've given you all the data you needed on him. He's a serial monogamous, you know."

Keith stiffened at that. "So what?"

"That's what you care about," they accused, not letting Keith contest them. "You're jealous. It's why you're being _petty_ about a man you don't know. You're threatened."

Had Pidge not been a part of Keith's entire academic career and someone he called 'best friend,' then he would've taken a running leap at them for that comment. Rather than dig his claws in, he fought his pout and hugged himself. Keith shifted his gaze away from his audience and sucked in a quick breath. He knew he couldn't fight both Pidge and Lance when they were in agreement with one another. It was a significant rarity that meant _something_.

"Don't mention this to Hunk," Keith warned.

Pidge grinned, posing on their side with their cheek propped up in a palm. Their Star Trek pajama pants and too big hoodie only added to it, and Keith pushed away his laughter. "Can't handle being told you're wrong three times in a row?"

He reached behind himself and wordlessly pitched a roll of paper towels at them.

"That would be a total no," Lance said as Pidge loud laughed.

Keith shoved himself off the counter and bound toward Pidge with a casual jog. Rather than wrestle them the way he would've Lance, Keith pointedly dropped his entire body weight onto them, smiling to himself when they started to whack his arm and call him a cow.

He was sagging on top of them when Hunk arrived, pushing open the lounge's door with his hip and pausing as soon as he spotted Pidge fighting beneath Keith. Over his shoulder was a weighty bag of books, in hand was his friend group's order of Mexican takeout and on his face was confusion that fell into entirely unconvinced skepticism.

"He's really not that big," Hunk plainly said.

Pidge pushed the orange shaggy hair off their face and huffed as Keith settled himself. "He's all muscle. He's like a brick. If we threw him in water, then he'd sink."

"That guy Keith was seeing does porn," Lance said, entirely unprompted.

The silence was devastating.

"Lance," Pidge piped up. "Lance, you heard Keith."

Hunk opened his mouth, lifted a finger and then looked at Keith who'd entirely stopped moving as if trying to become one with the dead. His critical gaze shifted from Keith and back to Lance who was inspecting his nails. He casually killed the beer with an untouched shrug.

"Oh, come on," Hunk exhaled, dropping his bag into the nearest chair. He gestured at each and every one of them with the plastic bag of takeout. "Guys, am I the last to know?"

"It's Takashi Shirogane," Lance added, driving in the nail. "Remember that guy that helped Matt Holt and fell off the grid? It's him. Keith bailed on him when he found out he did porn. Right after they went all the way, too."

"The amazing dude with the bionic arm I want to open and close back up?" Hunk asked. He didn't seem to realize how morbid that sounded.

Lance didn't either. "The same guy."

Hunk's nervous laughter was followed by him entirely freeing his hands of food and shifting around Lance so that he could step onto the main lounge's mauve carpet. Rather than critique Keith's choices, he knelt beside his friend and Pidge who'd stopped their fight when Keith turned his face toward the back of the couch. Their hand reached for Keith's arm and squeezed instead, eyes dimming in concern and no longer bright with playful combat. Keith audibly sighed and rubbed his forehead with his palm. He decided he was an idiot.

"Hey, buddy," Hunk said and inspected Keith's unmoving form. "Buddy, you all good?"

"It's not a big deal. I'm blowing this out of proportion," Keith tried. "It was startling. I'm allowed to be startled, right?"

"So what exactly happened?" Hunk asked the room. "Did you find out after you slept with him or did it sink in after you saw something he was in? Normally, you know, you talk about that first, and then you know, do the whole _you know_. You talk about that maybe more than once. I'd wanna talk about it before, during and after. Maybe through a dream or two."

"First one," Pidge answered for Keith who'd pursed his lips tight. "He didn't know."

Hunk's drawn out ' _uh_ ' could've looped itself into another universe. "It's one thing if it's a hook up, but weren't you _dating_?"

Keith reached back for Hunk with an open hand, and the men's hands suddenly clasped together and squeezed, slowly shaking back and forth. Keith's teeth ground together.

"Takashi Shirogane or not?" Hunk said. "That was a jackass move."

Keith wasn't sure if he felt like it was a jackass move, but something about it did bother him, and he wished he could figure it out before seeing Shiro.

"He's a good guy," Keith said. "I'm not sure what's eating me."

 

_**iv.** _

Shiro's condo was as he remembered it.

With the clouds ripening into a blackberry mist, Keith strode to the complex's front door, bundled for the falling temperature. He'd gone from studying to panicking about the man in under twenty minutes, which wasn't much of a record, but his brain was attempting to mix physics with the kinetic energy of his dropping heart. He buzzed his way inside with Shiro's distant ' _come on up_ ' drifting over the intercom and silently rode the elevator to the proper floor.

Once oriented, Keith knocked twice, but Shiro was already there to open the door. The man was showered and looking the way Keith did after a full day of classes and no food. His gray sweats hung low as he thoughtlessly rolled back his shoulders, and there was the subtlest fatigue dimming his eyes. In short, Shiro was depleted for that twenty-four hours.

"Hey," Shiro said and stepped to the side to let Keith in. "We can sit in the kitchen if that's alright."

"It's your place," Keith said, removing his red high tops and trailing after the man. The apartment's familiar smell filled him with memories of his anticipation.

There was a beer bottle on the countertop, and Keith's jacket hung over the breakfast bar's chair. Shiro seamlessly captured the bottles neck as he walked past, and he shook it to grab Keith's attention, silently asking him if he wanted one. Keith's eyes skimmed the label, and it physically burned him not to look past the man's frame and toward his awards shelf.

"Sure," Keith answered and sat down, immediately propping up his elbows and hoping he was giving the sense that he didn't mind being in the same space as Shiro.

There was the familiar clink of a bottle opener ripping off a cap, and Keith took a moment to admire Shiro's frame. It was mostly veiled by his Adidas hoodie, but the build was still discernable. Keith sipped on it, recalling the black lion tattoo on his thigh. At the memory, he silently hung his head to knead the back of his neck, sucking back a smile and miserable laugh.

"I'm thinking," Shiro offered as consolation. "I don't know what to say."

"Likewise," he murmured when the bottle was slid toward him, but he didn't look up. He rubbed his temples. "Thanks for the beer."

"I should've been honest," Shiro reiterated, lips hovering over the mouth of his beer bottle. Keith shifted and looked up through his bangs. "This isn't one of my better moments."

"No," Keith agreed. More silence. "You said you were going to tell me that morning, but what was the point of waiting? Waiting would make most people pretty damn mad."

"The idea of you happened fast," Shiro readily confessed. "That might be what it was. That's what I'm telling myself. There were plenty of opportunities from the time we met up until we slept together. You even asked me, but I froze." Shiro rubbed his knuckles along his apparent jaw before exhaling with a whistle. "I don't think there's an excuse here. It was bad."

"What did you do with other people you've dated?" Keith asked, finally grabbing the bottle.

"That's the thing." He lightly spoke, overanalyzing his bottle. "I've haven't dated someone since starting in the porn industry. I didn't want to."

Keith's expression slid. "Oh. Then—"

_Then that makes a lot of sense._

"But that's not an excuse. Most of my friends who do porn have significant others, and they've managed being honest from the start. Some of them are _married_. It's supposed to be about communication. I knew that." He pursed his lips, not making eye contact with Keith as he dove headfirst into self-blame. "Whatever. I'm sorry, Keith. Believe me. I am. It was so good. _You_ are so good and determined _and_ smart. I mean, at first, I thought we'd hook up and be done with it, but then after date three, there was still no sex and..."

Shiro pressed his hip to the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. Using his bionic hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly licked his front teeth beneath his front lip.

"You look like I kicked you," Keith murmured, fighting displaced amusement.

"It's not you. I'm kicking myself."

There was a pause between them, and Shiro groaned at himself. He lifted his arms above his head, revealing solid midriff Keith had to remind himself not to stare at. His overall core was undeniably strong, defined in a way that made him want to forgive their transgressions for on-site sex, but Keith couldn't allow that. The thought wasn't fair to himself or Shiro.

"Everyone's told me to get over it," Keith admitted, eyes softening. "We haven't known one another long, so why should I act like it bothers me? It was just sex."

"The tone was different. I know the difference between just sex and what we did." Shiro answered the unspoken question and cleared his throat. It was the question Keith couldn't bring himself to ask because it gave Shiro too much power. He didn't have the context to know what was or wasn't ignorant. "You have the right to be mad. It's not disrespectful. I don't know why I had to assume what I do would turn you off to me."

There it was.

Keith had expected that kind of admittance. The kind where Shiro showed his hand and there was a self-conscious card thrown into the mix. It made sense, but it wasn't enough to excuse it. Clearly, Shiro knew this, but Keith was trying to sort himself out. Critically, he wanted to exam the situation and know why it bothered him.

Maybe it was because he'd had quick oats feelings for Shiro. Maybe he just didn't know how he himself valued sex. Maybe he was just ill-informed.

Like lightning, Keith blinked in realization. He knew he had to say it before he talked himself out of the comprehension. "Porn doesn't look good to most, right?"

Shiro bitterly laughed. The sound made Keith's navel dip. "You could say there's a stigma."

"Why did you think I wouldn't be okay with it?" Keith asked. "I think that's what's been bothering me. Not jealousy or anything, but the question – Why didn't you tell me? Was it a trust thing? Do I seem like I wouldn't get it?"

"Lack of experience," Shiro said, so honest it butchered Keith's ego. "My self-esteem aside, it was your lack of experience."

The confession took some digestion, but Keith could only silently nod and take time with his beer bottle. After the burn had subsided, he returned his gaze to Shiro.

"Will you talk to me about it?" Keith suddenly asked.

"About what exactly? Your lack of experience?"

"No," Keith snapped, ears suddenly hot. "About what you do?"

Shiro's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're serious."

He lifted his bottle. "It'd be rude not to finish this. You've bought yourself a few more minutes, Shirogane. I'm already humiliated, so whatever."

"What do you want to know?" Shiro asked, bending over the counter so that they were on eye level. "I'll answer anything. I'm desensitized. Nothing is too much."

_Someone is eager._

Shiro drummed his fingers along the countertop, pressing his face in his palm and examining Keith's face, playfully scrutinizing as he waited.

Keith chewed the inside of his cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. "How often are you tested?"

" _Ah_ , right," he said, shifting his shoulders. "Knew that one was coming. It's mandated every two weeks, and I perform with the same small group to contain those—uh, problems. Altea is strict about its health codes. I won't lie to you. I feel safer having sex with someone in the industry than outside of it because of my head producer's attitude. She doesn't relax on it."

Hiding his relief, Keith tapped his bottle in thought. "Do you _really_ likeit?"

"I do, but it's still a job. Sometimes I'm tired, and I'm not in the mood. It's work to get yourself ready for a scene, and fluffers are an industry myth, so it's on you. Some scenes are great for me or for someone else, but it's a lot of hot lights and sweating on people."

"Gross," Keith said and tried not to laugh.

"Kind of," Shiro admitted. He paused to inspect the other's face, waiting for another question. Shiro took a patient sip from his drink. "Sex by itself is gross. Anything else?"

Keith's face burned, and Shiro pretended not to notice the way he pressed his heel to the end of the countertop or how he brought a knee onto the chair. "Is it different when you're with someone you're emotionally invested in or…"

 _It is way too soon to be asking those questions_ , he told himself. _Why are you weird? Why can't you ask where he started or if he knows anyone famous? Origins and not selfish nows._

"Without question." Shiro shifted to the side, and Keith recognized that as a self-conscious gesture. "There's no contest. You want to go beyond in scenes for good repore, but it motivates you to go home and do any even better job with someone out of a scene. When you spent the night you stressed me out, actually. It's a whole different performance in the way that you're not performing. It was new for me, too. I had to be good for one person."

Keith's expression took a dulled nosedive. "You could've done anything and I would've liked it. We've already covered how I don't have any experience."

"True. I liked that you didn't have expectations," Shiro added, as if only then realizing this himself. "Maybe that's what it was. You weren't a part of that fantasy people come up with."

"I know you're a hot nerd," Keith said, sliding his stare off Shiro's face as he tried not to smile at his own words.

"Takes one to know one."

Keith coughed. Regaining himself, he swept a strand of hair behind his ear and cleared his throat. "How long have you been doing it for money?"

"Since I was a little older than you. It was quick cash at first, but then it ended up being something I'm good at and care about. Not to mention, my look is big money. I can do solo work and make more than most people who do a gangbang."

_Huh._

_A gangbang._

_You can't ask him if he's done one._

_But he totally has._

_He so has._

_Nice._

Keith made a mental note not to Google Shiro's name and the word 'gangbang' as soon as he was alone in his car. He put the airlock on that until Shiro gave him permission.

"You could've worked for NASA," Keith countered. Shiro shifted back at Keith's bluntness, but he humored it. "Pidge is my best friend. I know what you and Holt did."

"Katie's your _friend_?" Shiro asked, startled and suddenly aware of something Keith wasn't. He grimaced and then fought a moan of disbelief. "You're not that much younger than I am. How are you two friends? They're practically my baby sibling."

He ignored that jab at his age.

"NASA," Keith said. " _NASA_."

"You're right," Shiro agreed. "I could have worked for NASA. I still could. Porn isn't all about desperation, Keith. There's the hot mess here and there, but I really do _like_ it."

There was a discerning silence and something occurred to Keith. He wondered why it surprised him so much, but he wasn't afraid to say it. "I'm glad then."

"You're glad," Shiro echoed, sounding both flat and concerned.

"I'm glad you like it. That you're doing something that makes you happy. Think about all the people who don't even get the chance to try that."

Something about this moved Shiro enough to make him physically push away from Keith. He deposited his beer into the recycling bin with a soft crash of glass and reached to open the fridge. He paused before opening it, taking his time with his distraction. Shiro subtly licked his upper-lip and actively thought. Without explanation, he smiled to himself.

He chuckled.

Keith watched the color return to the room.

At the following silence, Keith wondered if he was overstaying his welcome. "Anyway, I've dug into you enough. I should slam this beer and let you have your kitchen back. You didn't owe me all of this information, and I think I'm realizing I expected too much too soon. Really, Shiro. Thanks for talking to me. I wanted this more than I realized."

The other man sucked in a quick breath. "Do you want to go?"

There was an offering in the question Keith knew he had five seconds to contemplate. Breath quick to fill his lungs, Keith figured he had insulted Shiro out of any kind of second go at whatever they were attempting to build together. He slid a look toward the front door and found so little appeal in walking through it that his expression's saddened weight drained into the rest of his body language. Keith chewed his dried bottom lip and decided to be honest, too.

"No."

He didn't imagine Shiro's sigh of relief.

Keith mulled over that response and then leaned back in his seat. By then, both of his legs were crossed on the chair, and he was skimming Shiro's entire frame with an arm draped over the chair's back. The sun was down, but things were so vivid to him right then. Drinking in the newfound warmth, he lifted a hand and crooked a finger, pretending he wasn't aware it was the most confident thing he'd ever done in the man's presence.

"Will you come here?" Keith asked, syllables rough enough that when they rubbed together they encouraged sparks.

"Have I ever told you your voice is my favorite thing about you aside from everything else?" Shiro boldly asked without prompting. He followed Keith's request and set down his unopened bottle, striding around the breakfast bar with visible eagerness. Once at Keith's side, Keith reached for the end of Shiro's hoodie and simply held the fabric.

"My voice," Keith repeated.

"Your voice," Shiro confirmed and didn't retract when he was tugged closer. Keith unfurled a leg from the chair and let it dangle so that Shiro could step closer between his thighs. Keith decided the heat was pretty inspiring. "Need something?"

"I like you a lot."

Shiro bent over, and the hover was what Keith would have called a good feeling, a heartfelt thrum. Bionic hand reaching, Shiro's fingers swept back Keith's bangs and traced his temple until they traipsed downward and reached the flat skin beneath his earlobe. Shiro tilted Keith's head with the subtlest press, paused to await rejection, and then comfortably pressed his mouth to Keith's temple. There he lingered in a way Keith took as savoring, and while he was still looking forward to that coffee with Jesus, Keith decided they could postpone the meeting.

Shiro considered Keith's confession. "That's probably a good thing then."

"Why's that?" Keith asked and turned his head to kiss Shiro's robotic palm. As if to say he wanted to feel his lips, Shiro lifted his flesh hand and Keith kissed that, too.

"Because I think I really like you."

Keith encircled his fingers around Shiro's wrist and gingerly tugged it down so that they were face to face. Peering into one another's eyes, Keith hesitantly shifted forward but Shiro didn't move or possess the situation. It occurred to Keith that maybe Shiro was giving him the reins, wanting to see what exactly he was willing to give in the situation.

Uncertain but willing, Keith tilted his head and kissed Shiro in that familiar way he had after their stream of dates. It was light, pointed and content in its modesty. Shiro seemed to appreciate the simplicity because when Keith drifted, he pressed their foreheads together.

Keith swayed them. "I'll take that French toast now."

"I see," Shiro said, pausing to kiss Keith again. The parting pop was playful, and Keith weakly laughed only to be silenced by another deeper kiss. Shiro sighed when Keith lifted his hands to hold both sides of his face, and Keith could practically taste his happiness. Without warning, Shiro enveloped his waist with his arms and tilted Keith backward, suspending him off the chair. Though surprised, Keith securely slid his hands down Shiro's back and gripped his sweater, overwhelmed by how good it felt to touch another living person. "Only if you help me."

"No problem," Keith reassured him. "I'll be your right-hand man."

"That's probably a good thing because the secret is I'm not very good at cooking."

For some reason, Keith found that inexplicably funny, but instead of laughing, he twisted his mouth to the side and arched an eyebrow. "You were betting on a bad hand."

"I have other assets to bank on, which I did. You just managed to single out the lone empty account. That might be a talent you have there."

"I'll start gambling."

"Become a professional and that would make us quite the pair."

Shiro smiled and pressed his face to Keith's neck. He blew a raspberry, which startled Keith to the point of forcing his face to burn hot. Opening his mouth to say something critical, he stopped and let Shiro right him in his seat, distracted by the shift in his head's blood. Shiro settled himself after their innocent friskiness, momentarily freeing Keith with hands of knowing surrender. He turned as if to begin rooting through his cabinets, back fully facing Keith, but this distance didn't last long. Shiro revolved, and with graceful fluidity, rapidly snaked his arms around Keith's hips. He gathered him up in his arms and attacked.

There was Keith's unconvincing ' _no_ ' as Shiro kissed a path along his cheek, but it was muted by laughter, more kissing, and finally, Keith's quiet sigh.

" _I didn't know you made French toast in the bedroom."_

" _I told you I was bad at cooking. I don't even know where to start."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking at a pt. 3 because I want y'all to meet Shiro's producer (bet you can guess who she is), and I want Keith to grow and be comfortable enough to go on set with Shiro. 
> 
> That's all.


End file.
